Repens

"That isn't your shirt," he noted as they ventured upstairs.

"And you were quick to jump to negative conclusions for a man without a protective history."

"Don’t be so certain of my protectiveness," he argued, a far off tone in his voice. He probably hated when people attempted to figure him out.

"Yea, she said something about you throwing someone out a window? That's the moment I wanted to meet you," she confessed with a soft teasing blush.

"To think you've always been so close yet so far." There was that new tone again. But it wasn't really new because he'd been using it more and more the last week or so.

They got inside his empty flat with hearts pounding in their chests for very different reasons. Each were in their own thoughts and, for once, they weren't on the same page at all. Not even close. As soon as they walked inside, a hesitant Stephanie put her words of bad tidings together while Sherlock quickly closed the door. She heard him take two steps and then she was suddenly spun around to face him. His hands pulled her face towards his in a passionate kiss, making her prepared words fade into electric waves throughout her body.

She didn't dare question his sudden romantic streak. Instead, she moved her hips closer to his and returned the deep long kisses. By the time his hands found her waist, she had told herself to end their moment three times. Four. Five. He was a bloody fantastic kisser. How could he make her forget everything in a single moment? How was he turning her into one of those sappy lovesick girls that went weak at the knees from a single glance. The girl finally gathered her thoughts long enough to ever so slightly pull away from him.

"What's all this about?"

"Was just worried, that's all," he said before running his nose gently up her jaw line.

"Oh, that's all, ay? I'd say there was something more that you aren't telling me. Something, perhaps, you don't want me to know?"

At this, the brilliant detective leaned his thin body back to get a better look at his girlfriend. He shook his head and gave a shrug as if he didn't know what she was talking about. The torn girl released her hands from him and ran one through her long hair. What should she tell him? Were the words she had put together before too much or too little? It had all been so clear earlier in the day. Now, she wasn't sure what to make of it all.

"I tried to tell you before--"

"And I said you weren't up for serious conversation. You and your aunt were only gone for two hours. Takes much longer than that to eat AND shop with Mrs. Hudson. That isn't the shirt you put on this morning, not even a proper English brand," he sneered.

"That's what I've been trying to tell yo--"

"You told her that you weren't feeling well so here you are, only a few hours after you left," he briskly continued, his speech making her dizzy for the first time.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs. "Client!"

"Wonderful! Finally something to do around here- other than fret about gorgeous redheads. We shall continue later, Cassidy," he winked.

If only she could be in such a mood. She began to wonder if he was ignoring all of the signs or if he was genuinely too preoccupied to be concerned. If only she could tell him- then he would be worried. He dashed off with a smirk, the one used when he was pleased at the misfortune of someone else. His detective smirk. The one she normally would blush over. But she didn't feel safe enough to blush. Not at the moment. It was a good possibility that someone was watching them this moment. Simply being in the flat alone gave her an eerie feeling. With a melancholy sigh, she closed the door and made her way downstairs to join the others.

Her aunt was washing dishes as John was flipping through channels. She sat next to John and didn't feel like making the usual small talk. The friend immediately picked up on her body language. Knowing Sherlock the way he did, he knew the maddening affects one conversation could have on a person. Talking to Holmes usually left him quiet and thoughtful, and very put off.

"What did he do now?" the ex-soldier nearly laughed through his knowing smile.

After a brief pause, she looked right at him for the first time and asked, "Have you ever tried telling Sherlock something, something important, and he just wouldn't listen? And he's supposed to. He's supposed to hear everything, whether he wants to or not because he's too bloody nosey not to."

"Only every day," John chuckled to himself, remembering a few specific times.

"No, I mean, something very important. Like, if he doesn't listen someone could get hurt?"

John turned off the telly and moved his body to face her.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, trying to piece something together.

But she couldn't put this burden on John, of all people, not John. She couldn't even tell him a fraction of it. Someone with his simple straightforward mind and huge heart couldn't handle such information without trying to throw himself into the messy equation.

"Yes," she lied. "It's fine. I'll just try again later."

Sherlock burst through the door and yelled, "John, the game is on! I have a cab waiting outside." As quick as he had popped in, he was gone again.

"We’re off," John tried to smile. "Would you like me to say something to him?"

"No, thank you." He began to walk away when she added, "John," he turned around. "Do you remember when I told you that I was glad he had you?" The best friend of Sherlock Holmes nodded. "I mean it more now than I did then."

He gave her a genuine smile then left the room. Once he joined Sherlock outside, he noticed his friend's unusually giddy demeanor. They got into the cab and took off to somewhere that would be explained in due time. Sherlock never explained right away, if he did at all.

"You're all smiles," John noted, wondering why Steph was so down and Sherlock so uncharacteristically-dare he say it?-happy.

"A new case, a woman friend that is more than tolerable, Mrs. Hudson is less annoying than usual, and you have been more relaxed as of late- the new girlfriend working out?"

"Yes, actually," he replied. "A relationship is much easier when the woman doesn't think you're with your flat mate. You'd be surprised. Now that you have Stephanie--"

"Oh, Stephanie," Sherlock adoringly sighed, making John's jaw drop with shock. "A woman after my own heart. Clever girl, that one is. Young, alive, reasonable, and do you know that she has yet to text me?"

"She hasn't texted you since she moved in?" John scratched his head. Sherlock gushing like this made him extremely uncomfortable for some reason. Was this how the genius felt when he went on about his past girlfriends- especially Sarah?

"The most un-clingy woman on the face of the planet, John! And I never imagined attraction being so…"

"Distracting," the friend mused with an amused expression. "You do realize that this time, the cab ride to wherever we are going, is usually spent preparing? You taking mental notes aloud, me listening. You cursing at yourself for already missing something 'obvious', me listening. You asking for my input, then you not listening."

"Oh, this isn't exactly a case. We're only looking for Madame DeMires' missing jewelry."

"You're wasting time on old jewelry?!"

"Of course not!" the consulting detective harshly laughed, his face crinkling as if the very idea was mad. "She said I could keep the bracelet if I found all three pieces- necklace, earrings, bracelet." John's gaze narrowed a bit more. "For Stephanie! About time I give her something other than a hard time, don't you think?"

"I. Cannot. Believe you," the amazed flat mate flatly stated. Was this really happening? Was Sherlock going into full boyfriend mode? Was this even possible? "There's no other incentive?"
"Alright, fine. We get to keep the thing and she puts our names in the paper before she adds the jewelry to the British Museum."

"Charity work. We're doing charity work to make you look good for your… girlfriend?"

"Oh, John, as ever, you are missing the bigger picture."

"Yes, I am completely lost on this one."

---
Hours later, the jewelry was found in a secret underground tunnel beneath The Rose theatre. As always, it was a long complicated process that John only fully processed half of. The rest was all Sherlock, who had been entirely too frivolous throughout the case. They were thanked and handed a decorated wooden box with the bracelet inside. John rolled his eyes when Sherlock politely thanked Madame DeMires for the "most generous and appreciated" gift.

"You'll be appreciating it when that bloody thing sets you up properly with Cassidy," the blogger hissed. "How to steal a young girl's virtue- that's what this one is going to be called, all caps. Not even going to mention the case. Just going to write about how men use jewelry--"

"And intelligence."

"And intelligence to win over- wait!"

Sherlock couldn't contain his wide triumphant grin.

"Do keep calm, John. You'd be surprised to know that it is she that is after my virtue, not the other way around. She is already a woman of the world while I sit back and wait for the perfect--"

"I don't even want to know what has been going on in your bedroom the last week. Nope. Not interested. Don't want to know."

"It's hardly been more than what you saw the other morning. We’ve been very respectful… so far."

"Ah! And you are planning to change that. You're just waiting to get it off with--"

"With Mrs. Hudson a staircase away? I wouldn't dream of it," he smirked, popping his coat collar to push John over his limit.

They caught a cab and made their way back to Baker Street. It was almost nine when the cab pulled up to the building. The mates walked right up to their flat, immediately noticing it being empty.

"Steph?" Sherlock called, walking around the flat with the pretty box behind his back. When he couldn't find her, he thought it best to give her the surprise later. The recently sentimental man put the box in his sock drawer. For just a moment, he found delight in the thought of giving her such a gift. He couldn't wait to see her face light up with lo--

"We're home," John yelled before plopping down in his chair.

"Must be downstairs. Be right back."

Sherlock hadn't been gone but a few seconds when John chuckled shaking his head. It was like living with a different person. This girl was doing the impossible in more ways than was even noticeable. His flat mate was possibly falling harder than any bloke had ever fallen in the last century. Who knew the world's only consulting detective was a Casanova?